


Taking Whisks

by KaytiKazoo



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, Baking, First Dates, Leo Fitz is Holden Radcliffe's Son, M/M, Subtle Dadcliffe, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29033454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaytiKazoo/pseuds/KaytiKazoo
Summary: Hunter and Fitz are rival bakers in their town’s yearly charity competition. This year, Fitz issues his usual taunt with a little more bang than usual, and Hunter raises the stakes with a bet: if Fitz wins, Hunter will publicly announce Fitz is better at baking, and if Hunter wins, he gets to take Fitz out on the Worst Date of his life.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Lance Hunter
Comments: 15
Kudos: 18





	Taking Whisks

Hunter woke up to his alarm, and started his day as usual. He showered and dressed, and headed downstairs to the kitchen of his bakery. He had an order for a dozen cupcakes that had to be decorated for a baby shower, and he had to fill his display case as usual. Luckily, most of his pastry dough was resting in the fridge still so at least that was not a concern. Idaho was out of town for the weekend, since his sister was getting married and Hunter had given him the time off. That did mean that Hunter was going to be doing double duty until Piper came in at seven. That was fine, though. That is what Hunter had signed up for. That was what running a business was, after all. 

He set his playlist, and got to work, rolling out the pastry and prepping the filling. It was good work, kept him moving, kept him busy. Every time he slid a tray in the oven, he sent a prayer up to his mum that it would come out good. She’d given him this love of baking when he was young before she’d died, and he’d nurtured it ever since. He’d gone to as many classes as he could before he opened the bakery, and just started making. There was something so settling about it, the act of creating something from nothing. His father would blow a gasket if he ever saw what Hunter had created, but that old wanker was in a grave or at the bottom of a bottle far from this shop, so Hunter didn’t concern himself with what his father might think. Besides, stress made his bakes taste off, and he was not in the business of selling subpar items, despite what his competition thought. 

His competition was Leo Fitz. Fitz was, without a doubt, a thorn in Hunter’s side, and had been since the bakery across town opened. He had taken over as the head baker at Cozy Cottage Bakery just months after it had opened when the first head baker had had a nervous breakdown and thrown a cake order at an anxious bride. Fitz had stepped in and made Cozy Cottage an actual competitor. Even worse than that, he wasn’t just a business rival. No, no, Fitz was personally his rival as well. Every year, the Commerce Committee for the town held a small festival with a friendly baking competition. Before Fitz, Hunter was undefeated. Fitz, though, changed everything. Fitz was a good baker and Hunter was confident enough is his own ability to admit that. He excelled where Hunter struggled, and his pastry case and shop window looked something straight out of Paris. Fitz was not just his rival, but his equal. Depending on the challenge of the baking competition, they traded wins. Hunter blew them away with elegantly designed cakes and centerpieces. Fitz showed them delicate patisseries that wowed the judges. He was the bane of Hunter’s existence. 

Bobbi thought he was being dramatic, as she always had, but he wasn’t. 

“I’m here!” Piper called as she let herself in through the back door. “And there’s a package for you already.” 

“What? The post doesn’t come this early.” 

“Hence why I said  _ already _ ,” Piper replied. He rolled his eyes and slid the bowl of dough into a bag in the proving drawer for it to prove for a while. “It doesn’t have any postage on it so I think it was hand-delivered.” 

“Hand-delivered? What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“I don’t know, honestly.” 

Hunter washed his hands and dried them before heading for the back door where the office sat. Piper punched in as he stepped in. 

“This it?” he asked, gesturing to the box on his desk. 

“No, I hid it in the safe and put a dummy box on the desk. Yes, obviously, it’s the big box on the desk.” 

“I can dock your pay, you know.” 

“You wouldn’t,” she replied. 

“I  _ can _ , though, that’s what’s important.” 

“Mmmhm, sure thing, Hunter. You’re the boss, bud.” 

“I’m literally your boss.” 

“On a technicality, but in all but title, I am the boss here.” 

“I hate everything about you.” 

“I know.” 

She put her apron on and stepped out of the office to start work. He turned his attention back to the package. It was addressed to him specifically, not the business, with no return address. He recognized the handwriting, though. 

“Fitz,” he groaned, and carefully cut through the tape along the seams of the box. “What is this?” 

About once a year, Fitz sent him some kind of prank gift. Last year, it was an exquisitely carved wooden box with a specially ordered crown that read Lance Hunter, Baking Fool. He’d started it the second year they’d faced off against each other in the competition, the first year too shy to fuck with Hunter but his mean streak came out in year two. 

Hunter suspected that this was one of those. Fitz never mailed them, always hand-delivered them to the bakery’s back door at different times of the day. Once he’d left it at midnight the day of the competition, tapping on the back door while Hunter was still in the office. Hunter had raced outside and almost caught him in the act, but all he saw was the edge of a jacket skirt around the corner of the shop. 

He opened the box and peered in just as a canon of confetti and glitter exploded. It hit him full force in the face and he stumbled back. Distantly, he could hear the sound of the Scottish national anthem played from a speaker inside the box. 

“Hunter, what the fuck was that?” Piper called. She stepped back into the office, and there was a pause as she took in the scene, and then Piper lost her goddamn mind as she started cackling. “Holy shit!” 

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, but he doubted she could hear him over the sound of her own witch laugh. “It’s not funny.” 

“It’s pretty goddamn funny. You’re absolutely covered in glitter. Like, you look like a disco ball jizzed all over you. Or, like, like –” and she dissolved into another fit of laughter. 

“I’m absolutely going to fire you.” 

“You can’t even file the paperwork to do that,” she said. “I have to go not look at you for a while.” 

He wiped away the glitter from his eyes enough to see there was also a note from Fitz, his own name written in extravagant and extremely delicate calligraphy. It was set against an ornate pillow in the box, and he took the folded up letter off the pillow with no event. He half expected a second burst of confetti, but nothing came. It was sealed with wax and had been carefully pressed with an honest to God stamp with a delicately designed F in the center. 

_ Hunter _ , 

_ I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to congratulate you on entering the competition again knowing that you will lose. It is commendable for you to try and try again. Thomas the Train would be very proud of you. _

_ See you on the battlefield _

_ -Fitz _

Hunter rolled his eyes, folding up the letter neatly and set it aside on a clean part of the desk. There was one last thing in the box because of course there was; set against the ornate pillow was an enamel pin. It was shaped like a donut with the sprinkles along the iced top shaped like little Ls. It, like everything else, was also clearly custom made. 

“That’s it,” he said out loud even though there was no one there to hear him. “This won’t stand.” 

He circled around his desk and sat at his computer, and grinned as he typed up his challenge to email Fitz. It was less flashy than an explosion of glitter, but it would get the point across. 

_ Fitz, _

_ You’ve gone too far this time, and I will not let this challenge stand uncontested. I propose a bet. If you win this year’s competition, I will publicly admit that you are the superior baker. If I win, though, I get to take six years worth of revenge pranks out on you in one single, terrible date, also known as The Worst Date of Your Life.  _

_ Will you face the challenge? _

_ -Hunter _

It didn’t take long for Fitz's reply to come. 

_ You’re on. Prepare your concession speech. _

* * *

Hunter spent the next week planning out the date night, complete with pranks and revenge. This was his one chance to go all out and earn back some of his dignity. Piper and Idaho called him ridiculous, that he should be focusing on the competition and the challenge set before him, but he wasn’t super worried. Each year, the Chamber of Commerce set a challenge from a series finale of The Great British Bake-Off and this year they’d chosen to have them make illusion cakes. Hunter wasn’t overly concerned with the challenge itself, since cake decorating for events was literally the bread and butter of his bakery. He could make a cake look like anything, even with limited resources and time. One time, a worried bride had asked him to make a last-minute cake just for her groom’s mother who was suddenly gluten-intolerant, and she wanted it to look like a smaller version of her own wedding cake that would be served to the rest of the guests. That had been an interesting challenge, making a scaled-down model of the extravagant full-sized cake, but he’d enjoyed it and completed it with less than thirty minutes before pick-up. But he’d done it. 

The point was, he didn’t need to worry about the competition, because he’d already sketched out the cake he’d make at the event. Instead, he planned out the date night he’d put Fitz through when he won. 

“Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?” Bobbi asked, sitting at his desk one afternoon. 

“No, no. I’m good. I’m going to win.” 

“Fitz is a good baker, you know. Have you considered that?” 

“I have.” 

“And?” 

“I figure I’m better at cakes.” 

“Hunter, this is ridiculous. You’re not actually doing this. You’re not planning some extremely extra date night to, to what? What’s the endgame of making Fitz go on a date with you?” 

“I humiliate him?” 

“No, you won’t. That’s not what this is.” 

“What do you think it is, then, Barbara? Enlighten me.” 

“Are you sure? If I tell you what I think it is, and if you don’t like it, you’re not going to become some whiny piss-baby, right?” 

“I’m an adult. I can handle it.” 

“Fine. I think you have some unresolved feelings for Fitz that you’re not ready to face. You’ve always said you could swing that way, it’s just a matter of person. Well, here’s this funny, talented man who pulls pranks on you with the same stupid commitment as you, and he’s also very attractive. So, my thinking here is that you actually want to take him out on a legitimate, earnest date, but you won’t let yourself have nice things, or an adult, committed, loving relationship, so you’re going to mask it as a joke.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“I’m not being ridiculous. I think, once you get him on this date, you’re going to spend one-on-one time with him and realize that I’m right, and you  _ at the very least _ have a massive crush on him.” 

“You’re wrong.” 

“You always think I’m wrong but I am not.” 

“Yes, he’s attractive, but I don’t want to date Leo Fitz, Bobbi.” 

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Bobbi replied with a shrug. “All I’m actually saying is that this is a lot of effort for, for whatever this weird relationship is currently.” 

“We’re rivals, obviously.” 

“Do you know what, I’m done arguing with you about this, actually. What are you making for the competition? Talk to me about that.” 

He took out his design sketch and passed it over to her. She let out a low whistle. 

“And you can complete this in the time frame?” 

“I can.” 

“Can’t wait to see it.” 

“Me too.” 

* * *

The day of the competition, Hunter frowned at his reflection after his shower. Glitter was the worst invention in the worst, and he cursed its creator. He still had a piece of glitter in his eyelashes that he could see sometimes when he blinked, and no matter how many times he tried to sweep it out, it stayed, reflecting light happily as he blinked.

“You look fine,” Bobbi said as he fixed his collar again in the car outside of the community center where the competition was held every year. “What are you so worried about?” 

“I’m not worried about anything. I was fixing my shirt.” 

“You’re obsessing. Are you worried about what a certain  _ someone _ might think about what you look?” 

“No,” Hunter said quickly. “Nothing like that.” 

“Sure, that’s convincing. Just go inside already.” 

“ _ Just go inside _ ,” he mocked, pushing his voice higher. “Fine, I’ll go, but it’s only because  _ I  _ want to go inside, and because I’m satisfied with how I look. Which has nothing to do with someone inside.” 

He tilted his head up and walked inside, Bobbi chuckling as she followed him in. Fitz was already there, his best friends Jemma and Daisy on either side of his work station. Piper was at his station, making the most obvious eyes he’d ever seen at Daisy across the way. He stepped up to the station and caught Piper’s gaze. 

“Shut up,” she grumbled. 

“Didn’t know you had a crush on her,” Hunter said casually. 

“Stop it. I don’t.” 

“You’ve got heart eyes, Piper, heart eyes specifically for Daisy Johnson.” 

“ _ Shut up.  _ I will quit on you, and make Fitz hire me, and tell him that  _ you  _ have a crush on  _ him _ .” 

“Why do people keep saying that?” 

“Because you have a massive crush on that man over there, and everyone knows it except you, my dude.” 

“I do not,” Hunter said. 

“Okay, sure. You just go into the competition today, show boat, and when you win, you take Fitz out on an elaborately planned date, and come back to me on Monday and tell me that seems like a  _ normal _ thing to do,” Piper replied. “Yeah, absolutely, man. I believe you.” 

“Look, no one gets it, it’s a, it’s a  _ thing _ between Fitz and I. It’s revenge. He’ll get it.” 

Piper rolled her eyes at him as he set everything up without paying attention to the rest of the room. He pointedly didn’t glance at Fitz, though, because he didn’t want Piper or Bobbi to say anything else. 

The problem was, he liked watching Fitz work. That was one of the highlights of the competition as a whole. Fitz was a confident baker, never floundering, never stressed. He breezed through, and Hunter just – he liked to watch. That was probably weird, and he hadn’t ever mentioned that to anyone because it came off sounding a little weird, but Fitz had a tendency to knead dough by hand and his arms were incredible. 

“Okay, bakers,” Victoria said, walking out with Izzy at her side. Izzy wasn’t allowed to judge because she and Hunter had been friends for so long, and since Izzy had married Vic, they hung out too often to be considered impartial. They were a part of the Commerce Committee, so instead of judging, Victoria and Izzy had taken over what could be considered the hosting job of the competition. It was filmed for their local Facebook page, and shared with the community as a fun yearly gimmick. There was a small cash prize that Hunter donated to a local charity when he won, as well as a sign he hung up in the bakery for the year. He’d seen the sign similarly hung up in the Cozy Cottage when Fitz won, next to evidence of whatever ridiculous thing Fitz made him do for losing that year. “You know the challenge set before you. You are to make a stunning illusion cake.” 

“That is,” Izzy said, picking up right where Vic left off, and Hunter wondered idly if they’d practiced or if it came with being together that long, “a cake which tricks the eye and convinces you that it is something else. We want a delightfully tasty and utterly deceiving cake presented to our judges in four hours.” 

“And your time starts,” Vic started, both Vic and Izzy looked at their watches simultaneously. 

“Now,” they said at the same time. 

Hunter took out his sketches and rough instructions he’d drawn up during his first few practice runs and set them on the bench, surveying the workstation quickly. They changed the community center every couple years, and they’d changed it since he’d been there last. He had clocked where all of the ingredients were stored and how they’d arranged the room as soon as he’d stepped in. His military training didn’t lend itself to much in his life, not as a baker in a mostly safe town, but he was good at assessing situations, even non-threatening ones. 

Then, he started. 

First he had to make his cake batters; he was making two different cakes, a dark chocolate orange sponge which he was pairing with a sea salt dark chocolate buttercream, and then a dark chocolate mint sponge paired with a dark chocolate and mint candy ganache filling. The design would come later. It was incredibly important that his cake tasted good more than anything else. He worked quickly, drowning out most everything except his work. 

“Hello Lance,” Vic said, coming close to his bench while he was zesting oranges into a bowl for the chocolate orange batter. “How’s it going today?” 

Hunter glanced up at them, shifting the orange to zest a different section. 

“Wonderful. As always, I am excited to be here.” 

“And what are you going to be making for us today?” 

“You know me, something big and extravagant and beautiful. I’ve got my batters going, a chocolate orange sponge and a chocolate mint sponge.” 

“What are you imitating with your design?” 

“A coffee bar, with a coffee cup full of rich black coffee, coffee maker, sugar bowl, creamer pot,” Hunter said. 

“That’s a lot.” 

“It is, but you know me, Vic, I’m nothing if not over-ambitious and also reliable. You know I can do it.”

“Are you worried at all about your competition? Fitz always puts up a good fight.”

“He does indeed. I’m always impressed,” Hunter said, glancing over at Fitz on the other side of the aisle. Fitz looked up as he spoke, and their eyes met. He raised an eyebrow at Hunter, challenging him silently. 

Hunter kept his gaze for a moment, unable to stop just yet. He did have an unbelievably good face. Hunter couldn't deny that. 

"You're not worried about losing?"

"No more than usual. This challenge plays right into my strengths, as you know. I spend most weeks making event cakes for weddings and birthdays and retirements. It's what I love. This isn't anything I'm concerned about."

"My mom does still talk about our wedding cake," Izzy said. "Raves about it."

"It was some of my best work. I have the photo framed in my office."

"I can actually attest to that," Izzy said over her shoulder to the camera pointed at them. "I've seen it. He's very proud of it."

"Hit your peak there, then?" Fitz teased as he passed behind Hunter to get to the pantry. He brushed so close Hunter felt his arm skim along his back, and he forgot to breathe for a moment. 

"Some of us can have multiple peaks," Hunter replied easily. "I could tell you my secret, if you wanted."

Fitz laughed, and he had such a nice laugh. 

"I'm sure that it's not family friendly, whatever it is."

"That's presumptuous. I thought you were better than presumption, Leo Fitz."

Fitz considered him for a moment, hand on one of the extract bottles. 

"It's not presumption if there's a reliable pattern established, and in all of the years we've gone this, they've always deemed some of what you say not fit for the channel. Lance Hunter."

He liked the way Fitz said his name, even if he did so pointedly and to prove a point. 

"I just like to keep the editors on their toes," Hunter said, winking towards the camera man, the same man who'd handled the camera since they started this whole thing. Trip was a good guy; he had always tipped well, and talked about his wife as if she were an absolute goddess. That’s the type of man that Hunter admired. 

“Job security,” Trip replied, nodding to agree with Hunter. “I’m too pretty to be out of a job, Fitz.”

“I’m sure you could find a job as a model without trying if the chamber of commerce let you go,” Fitz said. 

“Believe it or not,” Izzy said, “Trip’s camera shy. I’ve tried to get him on camera several times and he just sort of disappears or clams up.”

“I like being behind the camera, not in front of it,” Trip said. “It’s better this way.”

“It’s probably better for the community if we hide him behind the camera, anyway,” Hunter said. “The world might explode if they saw your smiling face, Triplett.”

“You know I’m not on the judging panel; you don’t have to try and bribe me into voting for you.”

“I’m not trying to bribe you into voting for me. I want you to keep tipping as well as you do, and I do  _ that _ by bribing you with compliments.”

Trip rolled his eyes. 

“We’ll let you get back to it,” Vic said, gesturing Izzy and Trip over to Fitz’s station as he settled in. “We’ll check back in with you in a little bit, Hunter.”

“I’ll be here,” he said, turning back to his design.

While he worked, he periodically glanced over at Fitz, working with his usual expert precision. Hunter wondered about Fitz, how he came to this town, how he chose Cozy Cottage, how he even got into baking. Despite this rivalry between them, Hunter didn’t really  _ know _ Fitz. 

He wanted to. 

* * *

Hunter set the final piece on his display and stepped back to view it. Overall, he was proud of it. It was a convincing piece, he thought, and he was impressed with his own handiwork. 

“That’s quite something,” Piper said from nearby, head on her hand where she was leaning into a counter. “Good job, boss.”

“You know, when you say it like that, it sounds like a lie.” 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You just have this very dry - everything you say just sounds sarcastic.”

“Does it? I didn’t know.”

He rolled his eyes at her, and let out a satisfied breath at his creation. Unintentionally, his eyes were drawn to Fitz who looked like he was struggling with a final piece on his design. Hunter couldn’t stop himself, his feet moving before he could second guess himself. He headed for Fitz.

“I’ve got extra time; do you need a hand?”

Fitz looked up at him, and then at the clock, and nodded.

“Yeah, my hands are trembling bad today. Can you help with this?”

Hunter followed his instructions as best as he could, Fitz guiding his hands until they completed the design thirty seconds before the timer ran out.

“Holy shit,” Fitz breathed out. “Never cut it that close before.”

“You did good,” Hunter said, looking at the display in front of him. It was gorgeous, an entire afternoon tea set with tea sandwiches and a delicately decorated tea pot and cups. “Did you build that tea sandwich tray?”

“It’s rice krispies and fondant,” Fitz breathed out.

“That’s amazing. Good job, love.”

Fitz glanced at him, and there was a moment of consideration in his eyes. 

“Thanks. And thank you for the assist. You didn’t have to.”

“No use winning if I feel terrible about it.”

“Still so confident, then?”

“Oh, always. I’ve never doubted myself,” Hunter said, and bumped his elbow into Fitz playfully. “But I meant what I said earlier, you always give me a good challenge.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah."

Fitz nodded. 

"Alright, Fitz, Hunter, please bring your creations up to the front to be judged."

Hunter left Fitz to head to his own station, but not before looking him over one last time, walking away with a tiny smile.

* * *

“Well, as always, you have certainly brought a challenge before us, boys,” one of the judges, Coulson said with a bright smile. “I’m always impressed with what you two come up with. These were seriously stunning displays of skill, and technique. I expect to see things like this on television, not in our little community rec center, but yet again, I’m proven wrong. We’re obviously and honestly graced with incredible skill in this town, and I can’t be more proud of you both. Unfortunately, we’re only able to award one of you, as much as I want to break the rules and say you’ve both won. You’re both winners in my heart, at least.”

One of the other judges, Gonzales chuckled and Coulson nodded.

“Right, let’s get to it, then. We’ve had a long discussion, and this year’s winner is,” Coulson said, trailing off for dramatic effect. He paused, looking between them, and then winked at the camera on him. “Hunter, congratulations.”

Usually, Fitz and Hunter shook hands at the end, but this time, Fitz pulled him into a hug that Hunter absolutely melted into, wrapping his arms around Fitz’s waist and tucking his face in a little.

“Congratulations, you deserve the win,” Fitz murmured into his neck.

“You realize this means you lose, though?” Hunter asked, not pulling away yet. It was too nice in Fitz’s arms.

“Yeah, but there’s no one else I’d rather lose to.”

“And that you have to go on a purposefully terrible date with me?”

Fitz pulled away, and winked at him before letting the rest of the people around them in to congratulate him. 

* * *

“You’re actually going to do it?” Bobbi asked, sitting on his bed as he dressed for their date. “You haven’t realized this is going too far yet?”

“It isn’t going too far. He agreed. He knows what he’s getting into.”

“Does he?”

Hunter nodded, adjusting the ridiculously shiny bowtie he’d tucked under the collar of his Hawaiian shirt. 

“I don’t know, Hunter,” Bobbi said softly. “This seems weird.”

He grabbed his suit jacket and pulled that on over his outfit, and looked in the mirror. He'd completed the look with a pair of cargo shorts and the worst pair of sandals he had in his wardrobe. He'd always found that there was no use in shame or embarrassment, which certainly came in handy. 

"Stop worrying so much, Bob. I know what I'm doing."

"And you're sure this isn't some weird seduction plan?"

"I'm sure," he said with a laugh. "If I was planning on seducing Fitz, it wouldn't involve these sandals, and you know it."

"Who knows, maybe he's into that."

"If he is, I doubt I want to be with him," Hunter joked. "But that's not what this is about. This is payback and revenge.”

“How were we married? I don’t understand you at all.”

“You not understanding me is why we’re no longer married,” he reminded her. “I’ve got to go, I have to pick him up in a few minutes.”

“Wow, you’re actually going to be on time?” she teased. 

“I wasn’t late that often,” he replied.

“We missed several reservations in the last year we were married.”

“ _ The last year we were married _ ,” he scoffed. “We were only married for a year and a half, and that’s counting the several months we were actually separated.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“Be good, Lance.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be good. I won’t let anything happen. I’ll come home. Blah blah blah,” Hunter replied. “I’ll be okay, Bob. This is not a risk. It’s just hanging out with Fitz.”

“Mmmm, but it’s  _ how  _ you’re hanging out. You specifically set it up like a date. Like, a you bring him flowers and hold his hand and kiss him when you walk him to his door kind of date.”

“Yes, but it’s not like that. I can’t believe I’ve said this so much, but it’s not like that. I know how it seems, but I know what I’m doing, and it’s not what you think it is.”

“Okay.”

"Okay?"

"You're a big boy and I know you're too stubborn to listen to me, so okay. I'll be at home if you realize that you've definitely got feelings for him, or if anything goes wrong."

"Thanks, Bob. I've got to go. Lock up when you leave, love."

He kissed her on the forehead, grabbed the bag he'd set up for their date, and headed out to pick up Fitz.

* * *

Fitz lived across town in a side-by-side duplex, his car parked in the driveway, and a cute little garden right by his porch. It was charming, and Hunter couldn't help but smile at all of it. He knocked on the front door, and waited. Fitz opened the door, and let his gaze fall slowly over Hunter with a sigh.

"Hunter, what are you  _ wearing _ ?"

"Oh, don't you like it?" He asked, and he presented Fitz with the bag. "I got you a matching outfit."

"Oh, god, you didn't."

Hunter only grinned.

"Alright, come in," Fitz said, taking the bag and stepping back. Hunter followed him into the apartment, and looked around while Fitz headed deeper into the apartment. "I hope you're not allergic to cats."

"Not at all," Hunter replied just as a big, black ball of fur jumped up onto the back of a chair he was near. He would've startled if he hadn't been inspecting everything around him. The cat was large, and had wide green eyes, staring back at him. "Although, I wouldn't call this thing a cat, mate. This is more like a small panther."

He heard Fitz laugh from deeper in the apartment. 

"Ahh, that's Ophelia," he said. "She's sweet, but she is quite big. It can be intimidating."

Ophelia meowed at him and batted her paw at him. 

He carefully reached out and let her sniff his hand before she headbutted his palm. He scratched behind her ear and around to underneath her chin. 

"Oh, you are a sweetheart."

He'd never seen any cat hair on Fitz, which was stunning considering he'd been in the apartment for less than a minute and could see the long black hairs accumulating on his jacket sleeve. 

"Watch out for Deke **,** he's a little," Fitz started to say just as there was a crash from upstairs and Hunter heard the frantic pitter-patter of paws on stairs, then an orange blur streaked past him. 

"I think I found him," Hunter said, peaking at the streak now an orange and white cat with a crooked tail and yellow eyes staring at him from a cat tree in the corner of the room, hunched down like he was ready to go off again at a single twitch. Hunter noticed then a series of shelves and runners that were hung up on the walls that connected to the cat tree. 

Ophelia let out a quiet squeak at him and headbutted his palm again so he resumed petting her. 

"There you go," he murmured sweetly to her. He'd had a cat growing up, a little tabby named Whisk, but when he'd gone into the army and the SAS after, he didn't feel ready for a pet. Maybe he could now. "You're a sweet girl."

He watched Deke hop off the car tree and carefully walk across the floor, hopping up onto the chair and then next to Ophelia.

"Oh, did you want some love, too?"

He let Deke sniff his other hand before giving him some scratches matching Ophelia’s. He heard Fitz coming back before he saw him, and he looked up just in time to see Fitz step out from the next room. 

Matching wasn’t quite right to describe their outfits. They were more complementary than anything. Where Hunter was wearing a Hawaiian shirt with cargo shorts with the suit jacket over top, he had chosen a shiny button down shirt that matched his own bowtie, a pair of floral print shorts, and over-shined dress shoes.

“Are you serious?” Fitz asked, showing his outfit off with a vague flourish of his arms. 

“You look lovely, darling,” Hunter replied. 

“You know when you lose next year, I’m not forgetting this, right?”

“I’m aware.”

Fitz let out a sigh, and looked at the cats still leaning into Hunter’s hands.

“Didn’t take you for a cat person,” he replied.

“Oh, I love all animals,” Hunter said. “I haven’t had a cat since my mum was alive, but I’ve always loved them. I dogsit for Izzy and Vic all the time.”

“They seem to like you, too,” Fitz said. 

“That’s good. How’d you get them?”

“Well, Ophelia isn’t actually - I was going to say she isn’t actually mine, but I’ve had her for a decade so I think she’s mine now. I got her from my college girlfriend, also named Ophelia.”

Somewhere a twinge echoed in his gut at the mention of a girlfriend.

“Your girlfriend named her cat after herself?”

“Ah, no,” Fitz said, stepping up to him. Ophelia pawed at him and he held out his arms. She hopped into his arms, and he cradled her against his chest. “Her name when I got her was Custard, the name someone gave her at the rescue, but she never felt like a Custard to me. I named her Ophelia because the girlfriend in question was moving out of the country for a job, and couldn’t take the cat with her. So, I took her, and to piss her off, I named the cat after her.”

“Doesn’t that get confusing?”

“A little,” he replied. “But it’s worth it. She has a lizard now, this mean, cranky iguana that whips you with his tail, that she and her boyfriend rescued, and she named him Leopold after me, so we're even now.”

“Oh, this is an ex-girlfriend,” Hunter said, relief coursing through him.

“Yeah, of course,” Fitz said with a little bit of an eyebrow twitch at Hunter. “And Deke was quite by mistake as well. Jemma wanted to go to the SPCA to visit and look at the cats, sit with them, see if any of them chose her. And I said I’d go with her. Well, we were sitting in that cat room, and here comes Deke, climbing all over me, and he fell asleep in the hood of my jacket.”

“Did you walk out with him or something?”

“Almost,” he said with a laugh. “I just got attached to him. Hard to say no to eyes like that, you know? The staff said he was kind of standoffish, and didn’t let people near him. It was hard to believe that the cat who had made me pay attention to him had this bad reputation around the shelter. So, I took him home. Now, he’s a troublemaker, always breaking stuff and goes running through the house in the middle of the night, and lays directly on my face and screams in the morning. But he’s also a sweetheart.”

Hunter chuckled, watching Deke stretch, roll, and plop into the seat of the chair. He looked around at the room before taking off away from them.

“And he’s also insane,” Fitz added. He carefully set Ophelia down even as she protested with a loud meow. “I know, babe. It’ll be okay.”

She meowed again, and pawed at him.

“Come on,” Fitz said. Hunter led them out of the house, and waited while Fitz grabbed a lint roller off the table by the door.

“Ah,” Hunter said, understanding. “That makes sense.”

Fitz rolled the cat hair off himself, and then held it out for Hunter, who followed suit. 

“Daisy’s allergic, so I try to keep the cat hair away from her as much as I can.”

“That’s nice of you,” Hunter replied. “Does she come visit your house, then?”

“She does. She just loads up on allergy medicine first.”

“Makes sense,” he said. "I don't think Piper would ever show me that much consideration. She would come over and complain the entire time."

"Piper, that's the small, brunette woman who comes with you, works at your shop?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Daisy won't stop talking about her," Fitz admitted. "It's getting on my nerves."

"Holy shit, really? Because Piper can't keep her heart eyes to herself when Daisy's around."

Fitz grinned at Hunter in a way that echoed in his own chest.

"Oh, this is going to be fun," Fitz said. "And I get the privilege of teasing her that I was right. You have given me such a gift today, Lance Hunter, you don't even understand."

Hunter laughed as he led them to his car after Fitz set the lint roller back inside and locked the door behind him. 

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?" Fitz asked.

“You will just have to wait and see, my dear," Hunter said, giving Fitz a cheeky wink before starting the car and pulling out of the driveway.

* * *

Their first stop was dinner at a terribly themed pirate restaurant where an animatronic parrot greeted you at the door and called you matey.

"You're kidding me," Fitz said. "Pirate Joe's?" 

"Romantic, right?" Hunter teased. The hostess, a small, petite woman in what might be labeled a Sexy Pirate costume during Halloween, led them to their table. He'd specifically requested when he'd made the reservation, one of the tables on the deck of the pirate ship replica built into the restaurant. 

"I'm going to kill you," Fitz hissed in his ear as he passed him to sit down on one side of the table.

"That was not a part of the agreement," Hunter said lightly, and he found the way Fitz rolled his eyes endearing. 

Fitz actually looked amazing in this lighting, even with the ridiculous outfit Hunter had dressed him in. His eyes were particularly bright, a gorgeous blue that Hunter hadn't noticed before. 

"Hello there, my name is Wendy, I will be your server today. Can I get you started with something to drink?" 

Fitz looked at him, and Hunter gestured for him to get whatever he wanted.

"What's the strongest beer you have on tap?" Fitz asked, and Hunter chuckled.

"I've got a Sam Adams Boston Ale," she offered. 

"I'll take it."

"Wonderful, and for you?"

"Just a water for me," Hunter said. 

"Wonderful. Go ahead and look over the menu. Tonight's specials are a fried flounder dinner, and crab legs, which you can find on the last page. And I'll be right back with your drinks!"

She left, and Hunter turned his attention back to Fitz who had picked up his menu with a shake of his head.

"A pirate themed restaurant," Fitz stated.

"I told you, this is going to be the worst date of your life," Hunter said. 

"A pirate themed restaurant, though?"

Hunter shrugged and picked up his own menu.

"Cheesiest and least romantic place in town."

"Ahh," Fitz replied. "Why do I have a feeling that's not the only thing you've done?"

"Wait and see, love," Hunter said, turning his attention to the menu in front of him. 

"I don't like that response. That's cryptic and terrifying."

Hunter perused the menu, and realized his mistake in choosing this restaurant. 

"Ahh," Hunter said and flipped through again. "Fuck."

"What?"

"Uhm, well, I didn't take into account that a pirate themed restaurant would serve shellfish almost exclusively."

"Okay?"

"I might be a little bit, kind of allergic to shellfish."

" _ Hunter _ !" Fitz hissed.

"It'll be fine."

"How allergic?"

"I won't die breathing in here, but I can't eat any or I will probably go into anaphylactic shock."

"We should go," Fitz said. "Is there a plan B?"

"No, it'll be fine. We don't have to leave, I just won't order any shellfish, and it should be fine."

"Are you sure?" Fitz asked. 

"Yeah, it'll be fine. I promise the goal of today is not to land in the hospital."

"Okay. Do you have an EpiPen or something in case you need it?"

"It's in my jacket," he said.

"Okay, good. Good to know. Okay."

That seemed to settle Fitz and Hunter couldn't help but smile behind his menu. There were non-fish options, but he wasn't sure if they were cooked separately from the shellfish. One time, when he'd taken Bobbi on a date, the waitress had assured him they were prepared and cooked separately, and when he'd taken a bit from his chicken, he couldn't breathe and had to have Bobbi use the EpiPen on him before they went to the hospital. 

The waitress came back with their drinks, and a smile.

"Are we ready to order?" She asked. Hunter had decided on a salad which didn't have any meat on it at all so there was less of a chance of contamination.

"I'm good," Hunter said, looking over at Fitz who nodded. 

"Actually, I have one question," Fitz said before Hunter could start. "My friend is allergic to shellfish. If we get something like the chicken or steak, are those prepared and cooked separately?"

"Oh," she said, looking at Hunter and she could see the curiosity in her eyes that most waitresses has when his allergy was mentioned. It felt a little like they were thinking  _ what the fuck is he doing here then? _ "Let me check for you."

She left and Hunter looked at Fitz.

"Hey, I don't want to be the one that kills you," Fitz said, holding up his hands. Hunter didn't mention that Fitz's mouth would have to touch his for that to be a problem, because that evoked the image of Fitz's mouth on his, and that wasn't a very helpful thought.

It was an enticing image, though, Fitz's hands on him, Hunter's holding the back of his neck, their chests pressed together. He'd love to find out what the scratch of Fitz's beard against his skin would feel like. 

"And you don't have to order just a salad if you want," Fitz said. 

"Alright, fair point."

"I thought so," he said proudly. 

"Thank you. I get tired of asking, especially if they're going to lie to me about it anyway."

"They've lied?"

"Not this place, but I took Bobbi out for dinner when we were still together, and ended up in the hospital because they said their shellfish was prepared separately when it wasn't."

"Oh, god, that's horrible."

"Yeah, hell of a way to end date night," he said.

"Date night?" 

"Bobbi and I were married for a little while, kind of a spur of the moment thing," he said. "We got divorced amicably, and now she's one of my best friends."

"I didn't know that," Fitz said.

Hunter nodded.

The waitress hurried back with a smile.

"Okay, they are not. Shellfish preparation is a separate station with its own fryer and grill, so if you were to order chicken, fish, or the steak, you would be safe," she said. 

"Thank you, Wendy," Fitz said, and he looked at Hunter as his foot bumped into Hunter's underneath the table. "I'll have the honey pecan fried chicken, then."

“And how about you?” she asked, turning her attention to Hunter.

“I’ll have the fried green tomato BLT salad, and can we get a plate of those house fries for the table?” he asked.

“Absolutely. Good choice, those are my favorite,” she said like it was their little secret. “I’ll get this order put in right away.”

She hurried away, leaving them alone again. 

“Do you have any secret ex-wives?” Hunter asked.

Fitz laughed and said, “no. Ophelia’s pretty much it. She and I date for a while, and then she got this amazing job in France working under this chef with all kinds of accolades, including two Michelin stars.”

“So what did you go to college for?”

“Uh, well, that’s a little complicated. I have a PhD in engineering,” he said, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “But that’s not where I met Ophelia. I actually graduated with my PhD when I was sixteen.”

Hunter coughed on the sip of water he’d just taken.

“Excuse me?”

“Jemma and I went to uni together, that’s where we met, these two awkward children surrounded by adults, and we graduated together. Jemma went on to get another PhD, and I worked for a tech company, but as good as I am with tech, it didn’t feel right. I didn’t enjoy it, so I decided to go back to school, and went to a culinary school in New York, and that’s where I met Ophelia. We dated while we were there, and then, the rest is history.”

“By  _ a culinary school in New York _ , do you mean the Culinary Institute of America?” Hunter asked.

“That’s the one.”

Hunter scoffed out a laugh and shook his head.

“A child engineering genius, and he gets into the number one culinary school in the United States. What are you doing in this tiny town?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Fitz replied. “How’d you end up here?”

“Followed Bob, mostly,” he said. “After I got out of the army, I didn’t have a lot of direction. I was lost, doing some freelance contracts, until I met Bob on a beach, fell in love with her. She works at one of the biology tech companies in the city, and I followed her here when she decided to move out of the city and commute to work.”

“Wait, what’s her name?”

“Bobbi Morse,” he replied, and Fitz chuckled.

“She’s dating Mack and Elena, right?” 

“You know Mack?”

“Yeah, he fixes my car,” Fitz said.

“Genius engineer can’t fix his own car?”

“I probably could, sure, but I don’t want to, and also I don’t have time because I’m running the bakery every day.”

“Hey, who is the owner of Cozy Cottage?”

“What?”

“I’ve never met them. I’ve never even seen them.”

“Oh, it’s, ahh, my da’s wife’s family business.”

“What?”

“So, there’s a whole big family drama, secret love child thing going on with my mum and da, but the short of it is, my da is Holden Radcliffe -”

“The scientist?”

Fitz’s eyebrows went up in surprise. 

“You know him?”

“Bobbi was just talking about him during one of her science rants,” Hunter replied. 

“Huh, interesting. Anyway, my da has this wonderful wife, she’s way too good for him, her name is Agnes. She inherited this bakery that her own parents used to run, and then her aunt ran it, and it got passed to her, except as much as I love Agnes, she does not have a baking bone in her body. She moved locations to here in town from outside of it, and she hired a head baker, except they were ruining the bakery. Everything was dry, and tasteless, and the guy had an awful temper. I don’t get how you can be so angry surrounded by pastry and cakes.”

“You could be if everything you make is dry and tasteless.”

“That’s an excellent point.”

“I heard about a bride he chucked a cake at?”

“Yeah, he had this mental breakdown about it, and lifted this four-tier monstrosity up, and tried to hurl it at her. Agnes immediately fired him, and then called me up in a panic, and I came to help. I was supposed to only be temporary, but I fell in love with the Cottage, and the patrons, and the town, and I couldn’t leave.”

Hunter couldn’t help the fond little smile he gave Fitz.

“Which sounds like the beginning of a Hallmark movie, now that I think about it,” Fitz said with a laugh.

“It does,” Hunter agreed. “Although, that’s not a bad thing.”

“What made you open Juniper?”

“My mum,” Hunter said. “Juniper Bakery is named after her. Her name was Juniper, although she always went by June. She taught me how to bake, or at least, gave me the foundations to bake. I had to take a few classes before I felt confident enough to open a bakery, but I walked past the space one day, and I saw what it could be, and I used the money I’d made with the private contracting to buy the building, and all the supplies.”

“That’s amazing. That’s incredibly brave.”

“I don’t know about that,” Hunter said. “But thank you.” 

“So, you’re that good at baking from a few classes and your mum?”

Hunter narrowed his eyes.

“Are you mocking me?”

“No!” Fitz said quickly. “God, no. You’re so talented, and you just do that? You don’t have formal training, it’s just - sorry, I realize that that came out wrong. I just mean that you’re extremely talented, and I’m impressed that you’ve built everything on a few classes and your mum. I’d be terrified to try that.”

“I’m sure you’d be great,” Hunter said.

“I don’t know, I run my step-mum’s bakery.”

“Yeah, but you’re a literal child genius, Fitz. You could absolutely start your own business, a successful one.”

“Thanks,” Fitz said, and Hunter loved the way Fitz blushed. 

He wanted to see where else Fitz blushed.

Fitz looked at him, and Hunter looked at him back, and for a moment, they didn’t say anything, just let the quiet sit, and it was so nice for once. 

* * *

“How was everything?” Wendy asked swinging by after they’d finished their meals.

“Oh, very good,” Hunter said. Any meal he didn’t die during was a good one.

“Wonderful. Can I interest you in any dessert?”

“Actually, yes,” Hunter said. “He didn’t want to say anything, but it’s my friend’s birthday.”

“Oh, is it?”

He could see Fitz’s eyes go wide out of the corner of his vision, but he kept his gaze on Wendy, keeping his smile in place carefully to not give anything away.

“Well, we have a certain tradition for birthday boys,” she said. “I’ll be right back, don’t you go anywhere.”

She skipped away and Hunter looked at Fitz.

"It's not my birthday," Fitz said.

"I didn't think it was."

"What are you doing, then?"

"Well, first of all, free dessert, and second of all, you'll see."

"Oh, god, what is it?"

Hunter didn't reply, only looked over his shoulder and surreptitiously as possible took his phone out of his jacket pocket and unlocked it, ready to record this for future embarrassment.

Wendy came back with a whole parade of workers dressed as pirates, and she set a paper pirate's hat on Fitz's head. Hunter could see the blush grow stronger on Fitz's cheeks. 

"Well, shiver me timbers, a little birdy told me 'tis your birthday! So batten down the hatches because we're setting sail for birthday island! Arr!" one of the pirates said loudly, drawing the eye of everyone around them.

"I'm going to kill you," Fitz hissed over the table.

"How old are you today, matey?" the head pirate asked.

"Twenty seven," Fitz squeaked.

"Twenty seven! A fine age! Never too old to visit birthday island," the pirate said. 

Then someone blew off-key on a harmonica. What happened next wasn't what Hunter would consider singing, but the deep shade of red Fitz turned as he tried to hide under the paper hat was well worth it.

Wendy set down a large piece of chocolate cake and two forks, and left with the other group. Hunter gestured to Fitz to take up his fork.

"You're a terrible person. How do you sleep at night?"

"On my side, cuddling a pillow," Hunter replied easily. Fitz rolled his eyes and stabbed the cake, taking a forkful. Hunter followed the fork from the plate to his mouth, and stared for a moment at his lips, wonderful. 

"Alright, it's pretty good. Your cake from the competition was definitely better, but that's a damn good cake."

Hunter laughed, pleased at the compliment, and took his own fork up. They took forks of cake one at a time until the plate was cleaned. Wendy came by with the check, which Hunter took before Fitz could even try. Even if this was the Worst Date of his life, Hunter wasn't going to make Fitz pay for dinner. 

"So, what's next on the list?" Fitz asked as they got into the car after dinner. "Bungee jumping? Skydiving? Making me ride one of those electronic bulls?"

Hunter laughed, and said, "no, nothing like that."

He looked over at Fitz and found him looking back. 

"Oh, you have a," Fitz said softly, pointing at his own face for a moment, before leaning towards Hunter. Hunter almost thought that he was going to kiss him before his hand came up and he rubbed his thumb just to the right of Hunter's mouth. "You have some chocolate right here."

“Oh,” Hunter breathed. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Fitz stayed in his space, even as he removed his hand, and he wished he hadn’t. He wished they could stay there forever with Fitz’s warm hand against his skin, close by, his blue eyes sparkling in the setting sun.

“So,” Fitz said quietly, “what’s next?”

“You sure you’re ready? You don’t want to back out yet?” 

He reached up and touched the paper hat Fitz was still wearing, and Fitz chuckled.

“I’m not afraid of you, Hunter, or what you’ve got planned. I trust you.”

* * *

He drove them to the other side of town to the park. The sun had finally set, and it was that quiet moment of dusk, the sunlight officially tucked away for the day and the stars starting to peek out in the dark blues and purples of the night sky. Fitz, without question or hesitation, followed him into the park and along the path. 

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” Fitz said. 

“I suppose that’s most things, isn’t it?” Hunter replied. 

“True. So far, from what you’ve told me tonight, I know that you were close with your mum, enough to name a bakery after her, but she died at some point, probably during your childhood. You went into the army, and then did some sketchy stuff after -” That made Hunter chuckle because he’d very delicately avoided saying he’d done mercenary work to this nice small town baker. “- and you have an ex-wife who you’re friends with, and who is very supportive of you and your business. And you have a shellfish allergy you apparently don't consider when choosing places to eat.”

“All true. All very true. You’re a good listener.”

“Thank you.”

"I don't have a good relationship with my dad," Hunter said. "He's a police officer back home, or he used to be. I'm not sure what he's up to now. But he always had these expectations of me that I didn't want to follow, or couldn't. I joined the army for him, but that wasn't enough. Since my mom died, he couldn't handle the grief of it all and started drowning his sorrows in a whiskey bottle instead of getting a therapist or something. But, he was this kind of person who really enjoyed enforcing gender roles. If he knew I owned a bakery, which he would consider  _ feminine _ , he would flip his shit."

He looked at Fitz at his side who had the look of someone who understood exactly what Hunter meant. 

"You okay?"

"Yeah, my - well, he's not my da, my mum's husband when she had me was like that. He was verbally and mentally abusive," Fitz said, "especially about and to me. He did not like that I was a mummy's boy, and that I liked to help my mum in the kitchen. He certainly wouldn't like it if he ever found out that I was queer."

Hunter nearly falter in his next step out of shock. He didn't want to seem like he wasn't okay with it so he kept his steps even. His heart jumped into his throat, and he almost agreed immediately. 

Except, was he?

He paused, unable to stop himself.

"What? You okay?" Fitz asked, and his voice was a little shy, a little unsure, and Hunter wanted to wrap him in a hug and assure him he was okay there, Hunter wasn't going to hurt him or hate him. "Was that some big bombshell for you?"

"Uh, no, not, not that," Hunter said. "It's, uh, I think me, too."

Fitz lifted his gaze from where he was looking carefully at his shoes.

"Oh?"

"I don't know for sure, I guess, so maybe I shouldn't have said anything yet, but I've kind of thought it for a while, but -" he trailed off, with a shrug. "I don't have an actual idea of what, but I know it's not straight, I'm not straight."

"That's enough to start with," Fitz said. "Have you talked to anyone else about this?"

"Just Bobbi, but as a hypothetical more than a, a coming out."

"Oh. Wow. Thank you for telling me, I know it's a scary thing to start questioning everything, and even more so telling someone about it."

"Yeah," Hunter said. Fitz reached out and touched Hunter's wrist gently. 

"I'm proud of you, you know," Fitz said, and Hunter smiled to himself. 

"Come on, next part of the plan is right around here," Hunter said, trying to contain the blush he felt hot in his cheeks, leading them further down the path and between the trees in the center of the park.

Men had never been off the table for Hunter, but they also hadn't really been considered before. Bobbi had asked once, laying on her side in bed next to him, tracing the tattoo on his bicep with one perfectly manicured finger. It had been a probing question, trying to see what he'd be into trying, but what she'd gotten was a mishmash of feelings and he realized now probably some internalized homophobia from his father. Before, it had been this amorphous thing, the possibility if the right person came along. The more he looked at Fitz that night, the more it solidified as an actual part of him, less amorphous, more perfectly shaped to click into place. 

"Are you taking me into the woods to murder me?" Fitz asked. "That really would be the Worst Date I've ever been on."

"Ahh, no, although I'll keep that in mind." 

"For next time?" Fitz said, and there was a gentle teasing in his voice that Hunter liked. It felt homey, familiar. 

"Something like that," Hunter replied. "So, I may have talked to Daisy a tiny bit the day of the competition."

"Oh, no. What did she do?"

"She told me that you're not particularly fond," Hunter said just as they stepped out of the tree line that hid the park's carousel from the rest of the park. 

Fitz chuckled and grabbed Hunter's elbow.

"Oh, Daisy," he sighed. "I'm fine with carousels, it's ferris wheels I don't like."

"Really? A ferris wheel?"

"Yeah, I'm not sure why she thinks it's carousels, but it's one hundred percent ferris wheels. I don't like heights, and I don't trust the engineers who built it. Do you really think that I'm afraid of a circle with animals that goes around?"

"I thought it was a bit weird, myself, but I wasn't going to say anything."

"Except that you brought me to the place that you thought I was afraid of. Is that some plot to get me to hold your hand?"

"No. Maybe."

"You could just ask to hold my hand, Hunter," Fitz said, stepping ahead of him without waiting. Hunter watched him for a moment before hurrying after him. He didn't take Fitz's hand, even if his hand twitched with the effort not to. Surely he didn't mean that he wanted to hold Hunter's hand. He didn't want to presume if Fitz was just teasing. So, he kept his hand to himself, and bought them two tickets to ride on the carousel. 

There were only a couple other people, teenagers and a couple with a young child with them, but Fitz and Hunter found a section away from them. 

"Hey, look, it's you," Hunter said, gesturing to a lion poised in a permanent roar. "This one definitely has to be yours."

Fitz narrowed his eyes at him, but took the seat, climbing up easily and swinging his leg over the lion's back. Hunter had a flash of watching Fitz straddle him like that, and had to force his mind elsewhere. He took out his phone and called for Fitz to smile. He snapped a photo of him on the plastic lion's back. 

"Get on the horse, Hunter," Fitz said, gestured to the frankly terrified looking horse to his left. It was pale yellow with wide black eyes and an open mouth so you could see its little plastic teeth. It was adorned with plastic ribbons along its flanks, and a saddle that looked deeply uncomfortable. But he'd chosen this, so he set his foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up, looking over at Fitz who rolled his eyes. There was a light pink rosy blush high in Fitz's cheeks, which Hunter couldn't take his eyes off for a moment.

"Oh, god, I didn't notice the  _ sandals _ ," Fitz wheezed. "What the actual fuck are those, mate?"

"They're fucking awful, right?"

"They are. Where did you get them? Why did you buy them? I have so many questions."

"I don't remember, they're really old."

"Why do you still have them?"

"They were in the back of my closet, and I was looking for an outfit for today, and just came across them."

"They're absolutely horrendous."

"I know!" Hunter said excitedly, and Fitz let out a quiet laugh barely loud enough, the carousel music nearly covering it. It was a sweet sound, and Hunter wanted to see exactly what made Fitz laugh. He wanted to hear all of his laughs, wanted to know if he snorted when he laughed too hard, if he got giggly when he was drunk, if there was a point where his laughs disappeared, too high-pitched for human ears to comprehend. 

"You're utterly ridiculous," Fitz said. Hunter wasn't sure if the fondness in his voice was imagined or not, but he was pleased nonetheless.

"Last call for the carousel!" The ride attendant called, and Fitz looked out at the park.

"I didn't even know this was here."

"There's a place upstate that is apparently the Carousel Capital of the World. They apparently have six of the remaining one hundred and fifty antique carousels in the world," Hunter replied. 

"How do you know that?" Fitz asked.

"I went on a google spiral a couple nights ago when I couldn't sleep."

"Looking up carousel facts?"

"It started off as when the local fair will be in town and then just," he said, trailing off with a spiraling motion with his pointer finger. 

"I'm not going to the fair with you," Fitz said.

"And why not?"

"You'll make me get on the ferris wheel."

Hunter looked at Fitz and decided to go out on a limb.

"And what if I promise to hold your hand?"

Fitz studied him for a moment.

"I could be persuaded in that case," Fitz replied. 

Hunter smiled, but before he could say anything, the ride jolted forward, and the music got louder, and the horse Hunter was sitting on started to rise. Fitz's lion lifted as Hunter's started going down, on opposite cycles. He looked over at Fitz who was laughing a little, and he couldn't help himself from laughing too, and for the few minutes they were on, Hunter let himself remember what it was like to be a kid again, sitting next to a boy he liked, and he let himself just enjoy this moment.

* * *

Fitz was a little wobbly after they got off, and Hunter instinctually put a hand on his lower back to steady him. 

"Thanks," Fitz said. 

"Anytime," Hunter said. 

He started to lead them back to the car, his shoulder brushing Fitz's every few steps.

"So, what's next?" Fitz asked. "Any antique ferris wheels nearby you're going to take me to?"

"You want to go on an antique ferris wheel?" Hunter asked skeptically.

"Well, no, I don't," Fitz said. "I certainly don't want to go high up in the air on a giant metal circle built and engineered by men probably halfway drowned in a pint of ale, but this is your plan, and I agreed to it."

"No ferris wheels today," Hunter said. They crossed into the little circle of trees surrounding the carousel and the playground attached. Fitz slipped his hand into Hunter's, startling him at the contact he'd been thinking about for most of the date. 

"Hey," Fitz said, and Hunter stopped beside him. "I've been trying to hint at this all night, and it's clearly not working, so this is my only option at this point."

Hunter was about to ask him what he meant when Fitz stepped in close, and kissed him. His lips were soft against Hunter's, and he tasted like chocolate cake, and Hunter couldn't help the sigh he let out at how right it felt against him. He let himself be walked backwards until his back bumped lightly against a tree, and Fitz's free hand ran sweetly against his side underneath his suit jacket and up to his shoulder blade. Hunter touched Fitz's arm, and then skirted up his chest to his neck, letting his thumb sweep back and forth over his pulse point. 

He'd never kissed a man before, outside of errant fantasies, but suddenly he couldn't imagine doing anything else. He wanted to curl Fitz against him, and let them sink together until there was no start or end to either of them. The little noise Fitz made in the back of his throat was driving him crazy, the soft breath against Hunter’s lips as he drew away. 

“What do you think?” Fitz asked, voice little against his lips. “Good?”

“So good, love,” Hunter whispered, dragging Fitz back in closer to kiss him again. Fitz chuckled, and slipped his tongue into Hunter’s mouth. Hunter whimpered unintentionally, and Fitz made an echoing noise back, gripping the Hawaiian shirt at his shoulder. He let himself get lost in Fitz, until they couldn’t keep going, needing to breath.

Fitz bumped his nose against his cheek, and he chuckled.

“You know,” Fitz started, “you were wrong.”

“About?”

“This wasn’t the worst date of my life.”

“No?”

“No, it couldn’t be, you were here with me.”

“You’re sweet,” Hunter said softly. “What would I have to do? Die?”

“Yeah, that would probably do it.”

Then it clicked.

“You asked about how the food is prepared so you could kiss me.”

“ _Oh my god, Hunter, yes_ ,” Fitz laughed. “You’re so lucky you’re pretty.”

“Come back here and kiss me.”

“That is not a problem at all.”

Their next kiss was soft, and sweet. The next was long and hot, Fitz’s hands sliding up under the Hawaiian shirt. They had a lot of kisses after, in the car, back to Fitz’s apartment, against his front door as they tried to say goodbye and part for the night, on their second, third, fourth dates, on and on. 

**Author's Note:**

> "This turned out much longer than expected" -me, every fic I've ever written


End file.
